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“Uh, Carmine?”
He ignored his teacher, continuing on as if she hadn’t spoken. “All those people died and it didn’t change anything, because it doesn’t work if they don’t enforce it. They turn their backs and say it’s not their problem, but it is. It’s everyone’s problem. They can say slavery ended all they want, but that doesn’t make it true. People lie. They’ll tell you what they think you wanna hear, and you’ll believe it. Whatever makes you feel better about your dismal little lives.”
“That’s enough, Carmine.”
“So, whatever. Go on being naïve. Believe what the history books tell you if you want. Believe what Mrs. Anderson wants me to tell you about it. Believe the land of the free—blah, blah, blah—star-spangled-banner bullshit. Believe there aren’t any slaves anymore because a tall guy in a big-ass top hat and a bunch of politicians said so. But I won’t believe it, because if I do too, we’ll all be fucking wrong, and someone has to be right here.”
Mrs. Anderson stood, and Carmine smiled to himself. Maybe they got a show, after all.
He grabbed his belongings and headed for the door before she could tell him to get out of her classroom. The hallway was deserted, everything silent and still as he made his way to the front office. Principal Rutledge stood near the secretary’s desk, and he looked at Carmine with surprise when he walked in. “Did you get in trouble?”
“Me? Of course not.”
Principal Rutledge sighed. “It’s been a while.”
“I know, but don’t worry . . . It’s the last time you’ll have to see me.”
* * *
Haven stood in the kitchen making herself lunch when Dr. DeMarco walked in. “When you get a minute, can you come to my office?”
She nodded, nervous as to why he would want to see her. She wrapped up her sandwich, her appetite gone, and placed it in the refrigerator for later. Even though he rarely left the house, since the hospital had terminated his job after news of his arrest, she and Dr. DeMarco hadn’t exchanged more than basic pleasantries in weeks.
She headed up to his office when she couldn’t delay it any longer and softly knocked, opening the door when he told her to enter.
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the chair across from him. “How are you?”
She sat down, watching him cautiously. “I’m okay, sir.”
“Are you?” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem okay.”
She stared at him, debating how to respond. “I’m dealing.”
“Are you starting to remember things?”
She was anxious about where the conversation was heading. “Yes, but I’m not sure how much of it to believe. I hallucinated a lot.”
“It’s not my place to press you for details, but if you have any questions, I can answer them.”
She debated his offer. “Am I really a Principessa?”
He leaned back in his chair, giving her an interested look. “Technically speaking, yes. My wife got too close to discovering that, which is why she was murdered.”
Guilt consumed her. “Because of me.”
“No, not because of you,” he said, his tone serious. “For you.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes,” he said. “I once blamed you, believed it was because of you, and it took me a long time to see my anger was unfounded. There are a few people I could reasonably blame, myself included, but you aren’t one of them. If I would’ve realized that sooner, it could’ve saved us both a lot of hurt.”
She stared at him with surprise, and he continued after a brief pause. “The day we found you in Chicago was October twelfth. I was so caught up in everything that it wasn’t until the next afternoon that it dawned on me it had been the anniversary of Maura’s death. Last year on that day, you didn’t stand a chance. No matter what you did, I would’ve gotten you, because it wasn’t about you—it was about her.”
A chill shot down her spine at the memory of that afternoon.
“I want you to know I’ve never hated you. I couldn’t hate you, because I never knew you. And I didn’t want to know you because I didn’t want to care about you. Nine years in a row, I spent October twelfth wishing I could punish you, but this year, all I could think about was rescuing you, which is what got her killed in the first place.” He paused. “I’m talking in circles, and I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but I want you to know I’ve grown to care for you. And as for what I did to you last year, I don’t expect forgiveness, but I am sorry about it. If I could take it back, I would.”
He pushed his chair back and walked over to her, pulling up his pant leg to show his ankle bracelet. “Do you know what this is?”
